


You Can't Steal an Angel's Wings

by cometcas (javabi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Tattoos, Wings, but theres a tiny bit of fluff i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javabi/pseuds/cometcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in months Cas appears in Dean's tent completely sober. But that doesn't mean he's clean.</p>
<p>Warning: Mentions of alcohol/drug abuse</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Steal an Angel's Wings

Castiel was stoned when he convinced Todd to give him his first tattoo. That was the only way Dean could justify the ex-angel decorating his body in a way that only tore open old scars.

Not literally. The only scars on Castiel’s body were faded remnants of the sigil he’d gouged into his own chest all those years ago. That had been an act of love, Dean couldn’t deny it. A way of protecting Dean while sacrificing his own safety in the process.

Selfless acts were one thing, but Cas’ most recent desecration of his body (aside from all the chemicals and poisons he was constantly stuffing into it) was anything but that. Dean often found himself asking why. Why bother enduring the physical pain of the needle and ink only to induce more psychological agony later? Why did he have to remind himself of their past life like this? Of Dean’s failures? Why waste the ink, even? Why waste the time?

Dean couldn’t forget the night he’d discovered the tattoo, the same night Cas had gotten it done. The angel (ex-angel, Dean had to keep reminding himself. Ex-angel) had meandered into his tent in the middle of the night, and Dean searched for the telltale signs of drunkenness, as usual. But there was no smell of alcohol. Nor was the smell of pot on his breath, nor the usual dullness in his eyes, both of which were typically permanent additions to his appearance. Cas was, for once, sober.

“Hello, Dean.”

“What do you want, man?” Dean replied in exasperation, sitting down on the bed and untying his boots. He almost smiled to himself at the question. Dean knew exactly what Cas wanted because it was what he’d wanted whenever he came into Dean’s tent at midnight with that desperate look on his face.

“Please, Dean.” Cas basically whined, looking shiftily around the cramped space before returning his gaze to Dean. “You know what I—“ He swallowed and let his voice trail off. He seemed ashamed, for the first time ever. Dean couldn’t begin to fathom why, after all the shit Cas had done.

“What, all those orgies not doin’ it for you, big man?”

“Please.”

“All right, fine. Get over here and strip.”

Cas couldn’t quite keep the relief off his face, though he obviously tried. The former angel walked over to Dean’s bed and began to remove his shoes. Despite the drugs, despite the booze and the women and the yoga, Dean could still see a bit of the old Cas here. He could see it in the way he removed his clothing, so methodically, almost clinically, still following orders to the letter like the good little soldier he was bred to be. Dean stopped that train of thought before it got a chance to leave the station. Thinking about what Castiel used to be (and in turn, how low he’d sunk all thanks to Dean) was too painful.

“You’ve gotta leave by morning. We’re going on a raid as soon as the sun comes up.”

“I understand, Dean.”

Dean didn’t know why he bothered saying that. It wasn’t like Cas ever stayed anyway.

“Good.” Dean sat on the edge of his cot and pulled Cas down onto his lap by the collar of his loose shirt. No sense prolonging this any more than necessary.

Cas leaned down and got straight to it, and for a wild moment Dean wondered if maybe his angel mojo had miraculously returned and he could read minds. H was kissing Dean hungrily, desperately, as if this was the last kiss he’d ever get. That was how he always kissed. Like every one was the last one. It was one of the many reasons why Dean loved— no, he swore he wouldn’t go there.

Dean grabbed the end of Cas’ shirt and tugged it over his head, exposing the scarred skin underneath. Skin that was never meant to be scarred, Dean thought with a sick, guilty feeling in his gut. Angelic skin that would still have been flawless if it hadn’t been for him. Why did he have to break everything he touched?

“Why are you sober, Cas?” he asked suddenly. It was strange to be kissing a Castiel who didn’t have the usual toxins coursing through his veins.

Cas removed his lips from Dean’s neck and pulled away to look him in the eye. “Chuck took everything away from me for tonight.” he replied tonelessly.

“Why?”

“He wanted me to talk things through with you.”

“This isn’t talking.”

“I’m aware.”

“What kind of things?”

Cas stared at him with eyes as blue as a drowned man and as unforgiving as the sea that killed him. The old Cas came back when he spoke next. “Surely you realize I’m still angry at you, Dean.”

Dean glared back at those stormy eyes and spat, “Of course. And no matter how many times I apologize, you—“

“It doesn’t matter.” Cas interrupted sharply. “I Fell for you. I gave everything up for you. I defied Heaven, my family, my very nature to help you. And this is where I ended up, but I’ve accepted that. There’s nothing more that needs to be discussed. Can we fuck now?”

“Cas, buddy I—“

“Dean, I know I am disposable to you. Knowing this, as I always have, I am only here for a quick fuck, then I’ll leave. Got it?”

“You’re not dis—“

“Got it?” Cas cut in forcefully.

Dean knitted his brow angrily, then let out a resigned “whatever” before allowing Cas to continue kissing him.

“Good.”

Trying desperately to swallow the guilt that was roiling like bile in his stomach, Dean finally managed to pull Cas’ shirt over his head. The kiss grew deeper as Cas forced his tongue between Dean’s lips and swirled it around his teeth skillfully enough to make a prostitute jealous. Dean moaned. The angel had gotten good at this stuff.

Knowing that they didn’t have all night, Dean flipped Cas over onto his back so their positions were reversed. To his surprise, Castiel gasped in pain at the impact of his back on the bed.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was unashamedly full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Cas replied dismissively, reaching up to pull Dean down on him once more.

“Didn’t sound like nothing. Did you get bit today while you were out on that supply run?”

For some reason Cas laughed when he said that. “Laughed” wasn’t really the right word for the hollow chuckle that struggled up Castiel’s throat and past his chapped lips, though. “I should’ve known you’d make it about the Croats. Always worrying about his own safety, that’s our Dean…”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“Oh, am I wrong? You mean to tell me that the first thing to cross your mind just now wasn’t whether or not you’d have to kill me before I infected someone else?”

“I do care about you, Cas.” Dean said quietly.

For the briefest moment, Castiel’s jaw trembled and Dean thought he might cry. But then he clenched his teeth and spat, “I wasn’t bitten, so you don’t have to worry” and the moment was over.

“So why are you in pain? Turn over.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Cas.”

“No.”

“If you turn over I’ll find you a cheeseburger.”

That made Cas laugh, a real laugh this time, but he still didn’t obey. Dean resorted to desperate measures.

“You’re forgetting that I know you’re ticklish …”

“Shit,” groaned Cas, then rolled over.

Spread across his shoulders in black ink was a pair of wings. Each feather was sharp and seemed to glisten on his sun-tanned skin. They were large, spanning across his shoulders and all the way down past his elbows, and nearly realistic enough to trick the casual viewer into believing they could be real, sprouting majestically from his back. As detailed as they were, however, they remained pale imitations of the wings that had once graced Castiel’s true form, now a mere ghostly reminder of the powerful creature he once was.

Dean was almost speechless. “Cas…”

“Leave it alone, Dean. You know I’m only here for one thing.” came the snappy retort, Cas flipping over onto his back with the speed of a sprung trap.

“Yeah, I know, but this is … why?”

Castiel looked at him oddly, eyes boring into him like they never had before. It was a mixture of annoyance, anger, and…pity?

“You want to know why, Dean?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Cas turned his head away from Dean, glaring at the tent wall with an intensity the latter wouldn’t have thought those often cloudy azure eyes were capable of anymore. Dean almost made a joke about him trying to set the canvas on fire, but he was glad he hadn’t when Cas shifted that glare to him instead. So this was what it was like to have the eye of Sauron checking you out…

Cas took a shuddering breath, as if steadying himself for a plunge.

“Because no one should be allowed to take an angel’s wings.”

He choked back a sob.

“Not even you, Dean Winchester.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! For more of my fic you can visit [my tumblr](http://www.cometcas.tumblr.com/tagged/look-i-wrote-a-thing) ♥ Concrit is always appreciated!


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